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“Stupid weed,” muttered Harry. “Whose idea was it to put that there, anyway?”

When Ginny glared at him, Harry backed out of the room. He may have had to deal with his daughter being a legal adult and sharing her bed with a man, but he didn’t have to tolerate it under his own roof.

With that, Harry had a date with a jar of Bulbadox Powder and Jake’s pants drawer.

Pine trees were the only constant. Day after day, he and Hermione travelled from place to place, finding what shelter they could. They hoped for answers, but received none. Every place, every hunch, every grasp at loose ends brought them nowhere closer. Their travels had brought them nothing but disappointment and heartache. One Horcurx, no sword, no idea where to look.

Christmas Eve came and went, Godric’s Hallow turned up nothing. Christmas was just another day in their journey where days meant nothing. The only thing that tied their life to the celebrations of those around them was the evergreens.

Harry had barely entered The Burrow’s small kitchen when he heard an all too familiar sound. He sighed warily and turned, finding exactly what he’d expected: Ron and Hermione, sucking each other’s faces under the mistletoe.

“You know, it might be nicer for all of us if you could occasionally do that when I’m not around.”

They seemed not to have heard him. They’d left him in the parlor to get a snack for the three of them—he might have known they’d only get distracted. Muttering grumpily to himself, he grabbed a treacle tart and left them to it.

I was taking a huge risk. We’d been friends six years. Was I willing to risk our friendship on a teenage crush? No. I was young, but this was love, and I just had to hope he felt the same.

I opened the door. Arthur smiled, stepping through, then stopped, staring. The ceiling was a sea of mistletoe, the white berries protruding from the mass of green with which I’d decked it. There was no escape, except through the door.

So I kissed him, and my heart near exploded with joy when he did not run away. Far from it.

“No, Hermione, you need more cinnamon,” Ron said, reaching his arm over his wife’s shoulder to fix her cooking mistake. She gently slapped his hand away and turned away from her large bowl to face him.

“And since when do you know how to bake Christmas cake?” she demanded to know.

“I use to watch my mum bake… and yours is nothing like hers.”

“Are you calling me a bad cook?” Ron’s ears turned pink as he shook his head.

Name: Alex/welshdevondragon
House: Gryffindor
Title: Poison
Rating/Warning: 3rd-5th/Character Death, Mild profanity
AN: Normal service has resumed Naomi is Blaise’s mother’s first name in my canon. Also I will hopefully get better at these titles....

“This is delicious. But why does the cake have two colours of icing?” Henry asks, looking at the christmas cake, half with white icing, and the rest with purple. Henry is eating a slice with white icing.

Naomi shrugs.

“I am so lucky to have you as my wife,” he whispers, kissing her.

“And I am lucky to be your widower,” she replies, smile widening at his confusion.

He begins to choke, froth at the mouth, cough and splutter, body shaking. He murmurs, “You b****,” before his body stills.